surreal poetry
Surrealist poetry embodies the essence of poetry itself, drawing upon shocking imagery and lyrical incongruities to comment on the inner-workings of the mind.
The Colors of Life's Flowers
The Colors of Life's Flowers Pain ted on a deep blue backdrop, As if this winding life is veiled in mystery's wrap. Some flowers in a clear vase reside, Like our mistakes woven in varied tide. White, simple daisies, a symbol of peace, Beside them, orange's warm release.
By MD Mehedi Hasan fans of Alam Sir.about a year ago in Poets
The Color of Despair
The Color of Despair The sorrowful waves of yellow leaves, As if life's weariness has no end. On the bridge's bend, still hope lies, Leading far away, where only darkness blends. The sunlight is pale today, As if burdened by cloudy memories. The branches of the trees are lifeless, Their leaves hold only sighs. This path seems familiar, of many days, Footprints of despair etched in the dust. The storm in the courtyard of the mind has ceased, Now only the reign of silence prevails. A shadow trembles alone on the water's surface, Like a broken reflection within. The trees standing on the bank, They too seem to have nothing more to say. The song of life stopped long ago, Only gray pictures on the pages of memory. At the end of bright days, This darkness feels so much more familiar. Yet, a faint hope floats in the distance, Like dew clinging to dry leaves. Perhaps again on some morning, The banks of this sad river will be filled with light. But today, only stillness, only paleness, This picture of nature painted in the color of despair. That melody plays deep within the heart, Which only speaks of days that are lost.
By MD Mehedi Hasan fans of Alam Sir.about a year ago in Poets
TRICKLES OF TIME
1/We are trickles of time that fall off freely together with the ticking seconds leaving behind numbers. Naked amidst the busyness named as days...We are wanderers of fate that intertwine tackle the rivers of destiny. And never be able to digest the future.; Because we are just God's Boatswhich never the ends. Looking for its own estuary.2/We humans are mortal beings. 'Always stammering spelling the word love in prayers'. Going from one silence to another (feeling happy). Then the world is like a mirage full of expectations. We humans walk the road in thirst. We are humans travel the distance, on a path built from the desires of others (feeling alienated).
By Shafa Ichwanusabout a year ago in Poets
